


Surfeit of Riches

by wendymr



Series: A Different Kind of Love [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If anyone had told Robbie years ago, when he’d first been widowed or even before it, that he’d end up in a committed, affectionate but sexless relationship with an asexual bloke, he’d have laughed at them before calling in a police psychologist. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surfeit of Riches

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks, as always, to Lindenharp for BRing and encouragement.

If anyone had told Robbie years ago, when he’d first been widowed or even before it, that he’d end up in a committed, affectionate but sexless relationship with an asexual bloke, he’d have laughed at them before calling in a police psychologist. Yet now, six months later, he’s happier than he ever imagined possible after losing Val.

On the surface, things haven’t changed at all. After all, they always did spend a significant amount of off-duty time in each other’s company. It’s just that now they’re not making excuses for it: _discuss the case over a pint_ , or _bring that file over to the flat_ , or any of the other dozens of pretexts they’d used. And he’s not worrying about monopolising James, or fretting about the lad not letting himself have a life outside work and his ageing governor. He is James’s life, and James is his, and it’s what they both want.

It’s not all been plain sailing. For all their fondness for each other, they’re two very different blokes, and they’ve had their ups and downs. Arguments about all sorts of things, including about the fact that they’re both very private people in their own way: Robbie still knows next to nothing about James’s family, and Robbie can’t be honest with James when he’s having a bad day over Val – though James is pretty good at understanding the source of his moods and responding appropriately most of the time. _Appropriately_ meaning quietly providing coffee or lunch during the day, and either leaving him to himself or providing undemanding TV-watching company in the evening.

And, of course, Robbie’s still James’s boss, even if they do try to leave work behind once they’re off-duty. There are times when he has to be a boss, issuing orders James doesn’t like, or leaving James with the scut-work because he’s the junior partner. Or – though it’s rare these days – chastising him over something he did wrong. 

Yet despite misunderstandings, disagreements and occasional outright arguments, it’s been bloody marvellous. Someone to come home to most evenings, either at his flat or James’s – or, at least, who comes home with him or shortly after him. Although James still does work late occasionally, it’s not the stupid hours he was working before, and it’s no more than a handful of times a month. And they work out the disagreements and arguments; not always immediately, but within a day or two, because what they have is more important.

And what they have – it’s company and companionship, of course, which was there before but always with that bit of guilt on Robbie’s side. But it’s much more, too. Sometimes they do talk about things that are important to them, such as Robbie’s post-retirement plans and James’s tentative plan for when that happens; they’ve resolved that it won’t change their relationship, whatever they end up doing. Staying in Oxford, certainly, though he suspects that James would willingly follow him across the country if that’s what he wanted to do. 

Come to think of it, he’d probably follow the lad too, if James ended up working or studying somewhere away from Oxford. No, no question of it: of course he would.

Best of all, that haunted, despairing expression he used to catch in James’s eyes, that worried him so much he was afraid the lad might tip over the edge, seems to be banished. At any rate, he hasn’t seen it since that night he confronted James and they agreed to try this relationship. And, while James still drinks, it’s usually with him and not to excess – not any more. 

Right now, Robbie’s counting down the minutes until knocking-off time. It’s Friday and they’ve got a rare full weekend off. Best of all, Innocent’s promised that they’re off the call rota unless there’s a major incident and everyone’s needed. He and James are currently her favourite officers because they just cracked a significant murder investigation and arrested a serial killer in under a week after the case was passed to them when the original investigating team was getting nowhere.

The murderer’s been formally charged and signed a confession, and is in police custody pending his remand hearing on Monday. The paperwork’s all done. James has gone off with the hard copies to Innocent’s office, and as soon as he comes back they’re leaving. It’s not five o’clock yet, but after the week they’ve put in Robbie thinks they’re entitled to an early finish.

Right on cue, the door opens and James walks in. He’s looking a bit put out about something, but Robbie ignores it. “There you are! Get your jacket. Time to go home.”

“Best news I’ve had all day.” James shuts down his computer, grabs his jacket, and ushers Robbie ahead of him through the door.

James is obviously as eager as he is to get home; he doesn’t stop for his usual cigarette once they’re outside, but makes straight for Robbie’s BMW. James’s own car is at his flat, and they’ll get it over the weekend if they need it, but right now they’re both going back to Robbie’s.

“You need to go home for anything first?” Robbie asks as he drives out of the car park.

James shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure I have a couple of changes of clothes at your place.” As well as spare toiletries, of course; once they fell into the habit of James sleeping on Robbie’s couch most nights when they were off the next day, it made sense for him to keep what he needs in the flat.

“Good. Indian and Michael Palin?” They’ve been watching the _New Europe_ travel documentaries together – James bought Robbie the boxed set for his birthday a couple of months ago after discovering Robbie glued to a repeat. He has a sneaking suspicion that Palin’s various 1990s series might be making their way into his Christmas stocking.

“Fine.” 

Okay, so the lad’s still not happy about something. Robbie shoots him a glance. “Come on, out with it.”

James gives him a wounded look. “What’s this about you volunteering me to cook at next month’s barbecue?”

Ah. Innocent’s latest initiative to promote team-building within the station. She’s determined that this one’s going to be more of a success than the last two, which were poorly attended and mostly under protest. But then, who in their right minds would want to spend a rare day off dragging their family to a work picnic? And who’d want to risk looking a right berk playing with a Wii, or whatever that thing’s called? 

He and James were fortunate enough to be rostered on-duty both times, and in the middle of investigations so no chance they could be dragooned into attending. But the barbecue falls on a day when they’re off for the evening and the next day, and Innocent’s made clear there’ll be no excuses. Robbie’s considering rain-dances.

“She mentioned it, then?”

“Oh, yes. I got an enthusiastic lecture on how I’m setting an excellent example for others. It was unfortunately spoilt when I had to ask her exactly how I had done so.”

Robbie’s lips twitch. “Can imagine.”

“The _barbecue_? Did you have to?” 

James sounds more resigned than pissed off, so Robbie doesn’t bother apologising. 

“Well, she has been complaining that we’re not very forthcoming when it comes to social events.”

“Why does that mean that I’m the one who has to be... forthcoming, as it were?” James protests.

“You’re the junior partner. Natural order of things.”

James’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Very kind of you, sir.” His tone’s vintage Hathaway dry.

“Be thankful I’m not volunteering you for the pub quiz.” That’s October’s event.

“I am, sir, believe me.”

Robbie grins. “When I was a sergeant, I got dragooned into dressing up like a showman from the Wild West, shoestring tie, ridiculous moustache, ten-gallon hat an’ all. Had to run the Wheel of Fortune at the station fete. Now that was bloody embarrassing – especially when Morse saw me. Compared to that, you have to admit a barbecue’s not so bad.”

“Glad you think so.” James’s lips curve into a smirk. “I told Innocent you’d be my assistant.”

He stares at James. “You didn’t.”

The smirk widens. “I absolutely did. Senior officers should lead by example, after all, or so I’m told.”

Robbie sighs and tries to imagine volunteering Morse as his assistant for that bloody awful fete all those years ago, but fails miserably. Clearly, he’s not commanding sufficient authority as his sergeant’s governor. 

On the other hand, there are distinct advantages to his way of doing things, even if it does mean putting up with smartarse comments at times. Robbie steers the car into his designated parking space and switches off the engine. It’s their weekend off, and he and James are going to bloody well enjoy it.

 

***

Robbie pauses the DVD before it switches to the next episode, and James grabs their empty bottles and stands. As he does, Robbie notices him wince, and it’s not for the first time. “Backache?” he asks.

James pulls a face. “Yeah. After-effect of this morning’s gymnastics, unfortunately.” Gymnastics is right. Their murder suspect did a runner once he realised the game was up, and hid up a huge chestnut tree near the canal. He almost got away with it, too, since he had enough of a lead on them that they didn’t see where he’d gone. 

But, unfortunately for him, the branch he was sitting on started to give way under his weight. Frozen in fear, he claimed he wasn’t able to move, and as the creaking of the branch grew more ominous James decided to climb up after him. The damage was no doubt done when he took the murderer’s weight against his back initially, and then lowered the bloke to the ground.

Robbie frowns. He knows what it’s like to suffer back pain, though thankfully it doesn’t look like James is as bad as when he was almost crippled on the squash court. “Should’ve just let the bastard fall and break his leg,” he says, standing. “Want some ibuprofen?”

“I shouldn’t,” James says, already opening the fridge. “Not on top of alcohol. Anyway, it only hurts if I move the wrong way.”

Or sleep the wrong way. Robbie glances at his sofa, which he’s long been aware is too short for James to sleep comfortably. The bloke’s always insisted it’s fine, and in the past Robbie was never particularly concerned: if his sergeant chose to stay over, the couch was what he got, like it or lump it. More recently, though, and even before they officially agreed that they were a couple, he’s debated options including getting a proper sofa-bed. Only he’s never yet encountered one of those that’s genuinely comfortable either.

“You’re not sleepin’ on the couch tonight,” he tells James as the bloke comes back with two new bottles. “Not havin’ you wake up half-crippled in the morning.”

James blinks, looking taken aback. “Better not drink this, then,” he says, putting his bottle down. Robbie frowns, wordlessly asking why not. “Won’t be able to drive if I have another.”

“Give over. I’m not sendin’ you home, soft lad.” Robbie picks up the bottle and gives it back to him. “Got half a double bed goin’ spare – and it’s got an orthopaedic mattress an’ all.” James looks as if he’s about to protest, but Robbie gets in before him. “There’ll be no funny business, mind. I mean, I like you an’ all, but you’re too skinny for my taste.”

James laughs on cue, but Robbie can see the faint relief in his eyes. Idiot. He knows Robbie’s well aware that he has no interest in sex, and hasn’t the last six months shown him that he’s got nothing to worry about in that regard?

“Thank you,” James says after a moment. “I suppose politeness dictates I should refuse, but my back is telling me to shut up and accept.” His lips turn up very slightly at the corners. “Just kick me out if I keep you awake.”

“What, you snore?”

James frowns. “Not that I’m aware of. I just meant if I’m restless or anything.”

Robbie shakes his head. “Easy to know you’re not used to sharing a bed.” James gives him a questioning look. “You get used to stuff like that. Won’t bother me.”

“If you’re sure.” James takes a drink, though Robbie can see he’s watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t. Been thinking for a while this sleeping on the couch thing a couple of times a week can’t be good for you. I was wondering about a sofa-bed, but that’s more likely to wreck your back than this thing.” He pats the couch. “S’pose the easiest solution’s to move. My lease is up next month. Two-bedroom flat’d work.”

“I couldn’t let you-” James begins, but Robbie cuts in.

“You’re not letting me. Was my idea. Besides,” he adds, giving James a sideways smirk, “not much of a boyfriend if I make you kip on this all the time, am I?”

As he expects, James’s eyes widen sharply at the _boyfriend_ comment. It’s mostly why he said it, of course – he does enjoy getting a reaction out of the lad. But, at the same time, there’s a more significant motive. 

They’re partners in their personal life; that much they’ve agreed upon. But they haven’t really defined what that means, other than spending most of their free time together and James occasionally kipping at his place. If this was him and Laura, he’d have no hesitation in naming the relationship what it is, even without sex. So why not with James? They’re exclusive, as far as Robbie’s concerned; he’s not looking for anyone else, and he knows James isn’t either.

“What? Got a problem with me callin’ you that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course not.” James is as cool as a cucumber with that instant denial. “I’m just surprised that you would. Though of course you were winding me up. Trying to,” he amends immediately.

“Might’ve been,” he concedes. “But it’s not wrong either, is it? It’s what you are. It’s what I am to you.”

There’s a pause, during which James just looks at him. And then James reaches across and grasps Robbie’s hand. “Yes. Not that we’re really given to saying it, though.”

Robbie shrugs. “S’pose not. Tell you what, though: if you’re very good, I might be persuaded to tell you I love you once a year on your birthday.”

“Be still, my beating heart,” James murmurs, his lips twitching. His eyes soften. “ _Et tu, Roberte_.”

He doesn’t bother asking for a translation. He just swipes James lightly across the shoulder. “Off to bed with you.”

“Not without you, darling,” James drawls, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by the groan that escapes him as he stands.

 

***

It’s a lot less strange than he expects, sharing a bed again after ten years sleeping alone. James is the one who’s finding it awkward, lying as far as possible over to his side of the bed – so much so that he’d fall out if he rolled over in the night. 

It’s not out of avoidance; Robbie knows that. One thing he’s learned about his awkward sod in the past six months is that James does actually like physical contact, at least from him. Casual touches, occasional hugs, slouching comfortably against each other on the couch and, once, initially as a joke, James had lain on the couch with his head on Robbie’s lap. He hadn’t protested, and James hadn’t got up. 

It hadn’t taken Robbie long to confirm that he was right about James: denied affection for most of his life, and – at a guess, judging by how willingly he participates in hugs and even occasional cuddling on the sofa – he’s wanted it, but had no idea how to ask for it. Or no-one he could ask.

Once he realised that, Robbie made it easier by commenting, as apparently casual as possible, that one of the things he’s missed since losing Val is being physically close to another person, and that it’s been nice having someone to be close to like that. Since then, James has frequently been the one to initiate hugs or affectionate touches.

Robbie slides closer to James now, touches his shoulder and says, “Come on, back here.” James does, settling closer until they’re lightly spooned together, and even that feels perfectly natural, even though the body against his is male and he has no desire to shag it. He _does_ , however, want to sleep with that same male body exactly where it is, with his arm around it. Robbie leans up to press a kiss to James’s jaw. “Sleep well.”

“You too.” James’s hand slides over his where it’s resting lightly over the lad’s ribcage, and holds them together.

It’s the best night’s sleep Robbie can remember having in a very long time.

 

***

When he wakes, he’s instantly aware of being watched.

James is awake, lying facing him now, but their hands are still touching, fingers curled around each other’s. A moment later, he realises Robbie’s awake and looking at him, and a crooked smile curves his lips.

“I’m not sure what the protocol is for waking up in bed with your boss, but I suspect offering to make tea might be appropriate?”

“Won’t object to that,” Robbie says, unable to hold back a grin, “though I’d like it better if you didn’t use _your boss_ and _in bed with_ in the same sentence ever again.”

James grins, throws back the duvet and leaps out of bed with far more energy than Robbie has any wish to see at just after eight in the morning on his day off. Obviously, James’s back’s not giving him any more trouble. “I take it that means I’m banished back to the sofa whenever I stay the night again?”

Robbie snorts. “Wasn’t the _in bed with_ part I had a problem with.”

James glances back on his way out of the room, and his smile’s muted to that faint quirk of his lips that says he’s especially pleased. Seems like it wasn’t just Robbie who didn’t have a problem with sharing the bed.

“Meant it, you know,” he says once James is back with tea – and initially sits on the edge of the bed, until Robbie gives him an exasperated look and he gets back under the duvet. “No reason why you should sleep on the couch in future. This was fine.” He hesitates, then makes himself tell the lad the full truth. “Better than fine. Was nice.” Good to have someone to hold in bed again, he means – and the understanding look James gives him tells him the bloke gets it.

“You were talking about moving to a two-bedroom flat,” James reminds him.

Robbie shrugs. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean you have to use the other bedroom all the time. Might want it for Lyn to come and visit.”

Though what Lyn and Tim would think if James was staying at the same time and sharing Robbie’s bed... But does it really matter what they think? James is his partner, and he’s not ashamed of their relationship – quite the opposite. Maybe it’s time to think about telling Lyn. Maybe it’s time for one or two other things to happen, as well.

James’s free hand slides across the duvet, and his fingertips brush Robbie’s. “I’d like to meet Lyn. And your grandson.”

Robbie nods. “Probably about time you did. Assumin’ you’re ready to be introduced as me partner.” He holds James’s gaze, one eyebrow raised.

James stares back, expression frozen in awed disbelief. “You want to do that?”

“I do. Mind, we’ll still have to be discreet. Can’t see this goin’ down well at work, even if we’re not shaggin’.” He curls his fingers around James’s.

“I can’t see how anyone would find out, though. It’s not as if – to outward appearances, anyway – we’re doing anything we’ve not always done.” James shrugs faintly. “I sleep here more often than I used to, but someone would have to be following us around to notice that.”

“Yeah.” Robbie takes a gulp of tea, then goes for it. “Been thinking about that. You’re spending two or three nights a week here already – and with a decent bed to sleep in an’ more space for your clothes it’d probably be more. Seems pointless still havin’ separate flats, don’t you think?”

James, in the act of drinking, almost chokes. He manages to put his mug on the bedside cabinet, coughing and spluttering. Robbie reaches across to thump him on the back. “Better?” he asks after a couple of minutes when the choking sounds have ceased.

Instead of answering, James gives him one of his cheekiest grins and asks, archly, “Are you asking me to _move in with you_?”

“Thought we could get a flat together,” he mutters, a bit embarrassed now, unsure what to make of James’s reaction. Most of the time when the lad’s being a smartarse he can figure him out, but this is different – maybe because it’s important. And personal.

Abruptly, both of his hands are taken in a firm, warm grip. “I’d like that very much. If you’re sure you can put up with me. I know I’m an acquired taste.”

Robbie shrugs, smiling now. “Acquired it ages ago, didn’t I?”

James doesn’t answer and his gaze falls away, but Robbie sees his pleased smile and the pink hue taking over his face and neck. After a moment, James lets go of his hands and slides out of the bed again. “Back in a minute.” 

“Where are you going?”

“Getting my phone.”

“Eh?” What the hell’s the bloke want his phone for? They’re off-duty. They deliberately didn’t even keep their phones with them last night for once.

James turns back, and his face is still a bit pink. “Thought I’d start looking at letting agent websites.”

“Good idea.” Robbie hides his fond smile until his soft lad’s out of the room. Looks like they’ll be spending the day in town looking at property listings and – he hopes – making appointments to view.

Sounds like the perfect way to spend his weekend off.


End file.
